


day one

by julek



Series: Winterfest 2020 [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julek/pseuds/julek
Summary: It's bad luck to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe, or so Jaskier's heard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Winterfest 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041318
Comments: 3
Kudos: 105





	day one

The rain is falling hard by the time they reach the inn — Geralt had made the terrible mistake of asking for directions, which led to them trudging around in the downpour, blindly following some old man’s complicated and completely inaccurate pathway. 

Jaskier lets out a content sigh as they make their way in, the fire roaring vivaciously in the hearth, the smell of soup wafting through the air. Geralt follows close behind, making sure the bard doesn’t get distracted.

“Room for two?” the innkeeper asks when he approaches the bar, a knowing smile on her face as Geralt nods in response. She’s got a glint to her eye that Geralt can’t quite discern. “Enjoy it.”

He mutters his thanks and gently nudges Jaskier’s shoulder, motioning for him to follow him upstairs. Jaskier hums a soft tune as they go up, and flops face-first onto the bed as they reach it. 

“I’m exhausted,” he says, his voice muffled by the pillows. Geralt throws his cloak onto the bed, and it lands at Jaskier’s head. “Hey! I’m not your… your… ugh. I can’t even think of a smart retort to your uncivilized actions. That’s how exhausted I am.”

Geralt snorts a laugh and sets his swords on a table by the window, pulling a cloth out of his saddlebags. Jaskier sits up, and he’s chattering nonsense as he struggles to untie his boots when a loud gasp makes Geralt turn around to face him, his senses sharp to detect any threat.

There’s not one, if the way Jaskier’s gaping at the ceiling is anything to go by. Geralt follows his gaze, and his eyes land on a small bundle of leaves and white flowers, hanging on one of the rafts of the—

Oh. Oh, no. Geralt inhales sharply as he feels Jaskier’s scent bloom with joy and excitement, undoubtedly as he stares at what could only be—

“Mistletoe!” Jaskier beams as he stands up in a rush, and Geralt thinks he may start skipping in delight. “Oh, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen some.”

“It’s just a protection against demons,” Geralt says with a tone he hopes comes across as flat and disinterested. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing out of the— Geralt,” Jaskier huffs, his hair is falling on his eyes, and Geralt wants to reach out and brush it back. “It’s one of the most poetic signs of love Destiny can offer us, a suggestion that calls for intimacy and tenderness—”

“Weren’t you exhausted a minute ago?”

“—but most importantly, it’s one of Rivia’s greatest traditions! How could you ignore it, be blind to your homeland beckoning you back with this marvelous gift?”

Geralt closes his eyes and has half a mind to reach up and toss that godsdamned plant out of the window, if only to put an end to Jaskier’s seemingly endless rambling. He’s very well aware of the implications this decoration carries, has heard a million tales of swooning maidens and dashing gentlemen — he knows he’s not one, though, not even if he’d like to play pretend and sweep Jaskier off his feet. Oh, and how he wants to; how he wishes he were half the man Jaskier deserves, to love him like he is meant to. He knows, and is about to grunt at Jaskier to stop his monologue, when he feels the bard’s hand on his forearm.

“Besides,” Jaskier whispers, moving closer to him, “it’s bad luck not to bestow a kiss upon whoever’s lucky enough to be standing with you under the mistletoe.”

Geralt huffs a humorless laugh. “No one would consider themselves lucky.”

“Oh?” Jaskier steps closer, their faces only a breath apart. Geralt could break the distance easily, press his lips against Jaskier’s in a heartbeat, and shut him up for once and for all. “I feel like the luckiest bard in the Continent tonight.”

Geralt doesn’t have time to answer, to turn back and tell Jaskier to stop pitying him, because suddenly Jaskier’s lips find his own. His hands immediately fly to the bard’s waist, almost in instinct, and Jaskier sighs into his mouth. The kiss is slow and chaste, their mouths fitting perfectly against each other, and there’s an edge of sweetness to it that Geralt can’t seem to ignore. 

When they part, Jaskier’s hands are in his hair, mindlessly curling strands on his fingers. His skin is flushed pink and his eyes shimmer in the firelight, a small smile on his lips. Geralt kisses him again, then pulls back and peppers kisses on his face — his cheek and his nose, then finally presses his lips to Jaskier’s forehead. 

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, and lets himself be held in Jaskier’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> follow this series on [tumblr](http://julek.tumblr.com/tagged/winter%20prompts)!


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